"London, August 10. 1806.
"My dear Bridget,
"As I have already troubled your brother with more than he will find
pleasure in deciphering, you are the next to whom I shall assign the
employment of perusing this second epistle. You will perceive from my
first, that no idea of Mrs. B.'s arrival had disturbed me at the time
it was written; _not_ so the present, since the appearance of a note
from the _illustrious cause_ of my _sudden decampment_ has driven the
'natural ruby from my cheeks,' and completely blanched my woe-begone
countenance. This gun-powder intimation of her arrival breathes less
of terror and dismay than you will probably imagine, and concludes
with the comfortable assurance of all _present motion_ being prevented
by the fatigue of her journey, for which my _blessings_ are due to the
rough roads and restive quadrupeds of his Majesty's highways. As I
have not the smallest inclination to be chased round the country, I
shall e'en make a merit of necessity; and since, like Macbeth,
'they've tied me to the stake, I cannot fly,' I shall imitate that
valorous tyrant, and 'bear-like fight the course,' all escape being
precluded. I can now engage with less disadvantage, having drawn the
enemy from her intrenchments, though, like the _prototype_ to whom I
have compared myself, with an excellent chance of being knocked on the
head. However, 'lay on, Macduff, and d----d be he who first cries,
Hold, enough.'
"I shall remain in town for, at least, a week, and expect to hear from
_you_ before its expiration. I presume the printer has brought you the
offspring of my _poetic mania_. Remember in the first line to '_loud_
the winds whistle,' instead of 'round,' which that blockhead Ridge has
inserted by mistake, and makes nonsense of the whole stanza.
Addio!--Now to encounter my _Hydra_.